


Golden and Grotesque

by vienn_peridot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Character Study, Identity Issues, Loss of Identity, Magnus Armour, No seriously writing this has given me MANY concerns about Minimus' mental state, Other, Secret Identity, Vore, What Have I Done, vorarephilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: Ultra Magnus has consumed many Autobots over the centuries of war.Now that the war is over, an Autobot will consume him.





	Golden and Grotesque

**Author's Note:**

> The first time I ever logged on to Discord I got bunnied with this. It's been sitting finished on my harddrive for nearly three years, for obvious reasons. Now I need to bribe someone so HERE YOU GO.

Minimus Ambus locked the door of his quarters, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be disturbed for at least the next week. For the first time in his functioning he had requested leave, expecting an argument and instead having it granted even before the datapad had come to rest upon Rodimus’ desk. Instead of questions he’d gotten a comment to the effect of ‘about slagging time’ and told to ‘have fun.’

A long lifetime of practice had kept his expression neutral while he promised to comply despite the heat he could spreading through his frame.

Now he stood in his quarters facing a week with no company save for that of the Magnus Armour.

Minimus had spent months preparing for this, gathering supplies and converting the berthroom for temporary use as his _dining room_. Recharging on the couch for the last week had been a small sacrifice and one he’d made willingly. Minimus had been dreaming of this for centuries and now it was finally about to happen.

Contemplating the events to come Minimus’ fans activated with a soft whirr, dumping excess heat as his legs turned temporarily weak. He slumped against the locked door, regaining his composure with an effort and several long, deliberate full ventilation cycles.

When he was ready, Minimus crossed his quarters and opened the berthroom door to reveal the Magnus Armour lying in state on his berth. It looked serene, as if Ultra Magnus was simply recharging on his back, hands lying on that heavy abdomen with the fingers entwined in a way that looked artless but Minimus had in fact spent _hours_ making sure was absolutely perfect. The entire room had been lined with several layers of thick, waterproof tarpaulins to contain the inevitable mess and equipped with discreet, self-contained recording devices. A small roll in front of the door would keep anything pooling on the floor from escaping into the main room. There was a line of tarps protecting the floor in a trail leading from the berthroom to the washracks, just in case. He didn’t anticipate needing the washracks until the end of this but he knew it was better to be prepared than not.

His fans a dull roar in his audials, Minimus Ambus stepped forwards into his berthroom, closing the door and allowing the final waterproof curtain to drop down behind him, sealing him in. His optics locked on the huge frame occupying his berth; a costume he had worn for centuries and had been worn by others for centuries before him.

_In the end we were nothing,_ I _was nothing. All that mattered was the armour, the remains of_ your _frame and_ your _legacy the we had to continue no matter the cost to ourselves._

Ultra Magnus had consumed him, consumed all of them. Literally and metaphorically.

Now the last wearer of the Magnus Armour would return the favour.

And then there would only be Minimus Ambus.

He started slowly, not quite believing that he finally dared to do what he’d spent centuries imagining. Fans whirred louder and vents dumped heat into the shrouded berthroom as Minimus Ambus observed the Armour –his shield, his prison- from every possible angle. Committing the images before his optics to memory he raised a shaking hand and caressed the thick plating that had been his for so long.

Over and around the hollow shell of Ultra Magnus he went with careful fingers probing into every nook and cranny, finding not a trace of grime. Before removing the armour for the final time he’d scrubbed and polished so thoroughly it had actually stung. He wanted nothing unexpected to interrupt his enjoyment of the proceedings.

Then on impulse he brought lips into play.

Crouched on the huge chest, Minimus bowed his helm and pressed a chaste kiss to the smooth, cool lipplates. They were slack, as was to be expected. His engine growled as he licked out, flicking his glossa over the large lips and sliding into Magnus’ large mouth. His self-control slipped for just a moment as the truth of the moment overcame him and Minimus growled, kissing the unresisting Armour savagely, taking the lower lip between his denta and biting down hard enough to dent before he regained control of himself.

Venting heavily and panting through an open mouth Minimus forced himself away from that tempting mouth and sat up, wiping oral solvents from his chin with the back of his hand and observing the shine on Magnus’ dented lip.

His last thread of patience was under serious strain but Minimus was determined to fulfil this fantasy as close to perfection as he could manage.

After all, it was the first thing he’d done for himself since donning the Armour.

Forcing himself away from that too-tempting mouth he proceeded to kiss and lick his way back over every square inch of armour he’d touched before. He snuck in a few cheeky bites to thick cables, deliberately restraining his strength to keep from damaging Magnus too soon. All over, again and again, Minimus lost track of time before he returned to the helm, shivering with electric anticipation as he claimed another one-sided kiss.

He had spent many an hour over the years contemplating how he’d go about this, where to begin and how to proceed for maximum effect. It wasn’t just the pleasure of the act; Minimus Ambus wanted to make a statement with his actions, even if that statement went unseen and unknown by the larger universe.

Nobody needed to know; anyone who might have understood this had pre-deceased him in the line of duty.

This was for Minimus Ambus alone.

Tearing himself away from the helm with a supreme act of will, Minimus returned to the torso of the Magnus Armour. He picked up one of the hands gently, cradled it almost tenderly against his chest, feeling the lax weight of it. After a long moment of silent contemplation, Minimus Ambus lifted the hand to his mouth, slid the index finger in as far as it would go and bit down.

Armour bent and sheared under his denta, small mechanisms crunched as he brought the full power of his frame into play. He moaned aloud as energon and hydraulic fluid ran down his chin, shivering with ecstasy as he chewed slowly, savouring that first taste. Swallowing, Minimus went back for more, taking the rest of that finger and sucking on the stump to get as much as he could before the Magnus Armour’s autorepair sealed the severed lines.

The rest of the fingers and the hand went the same way, Minimus struggling a bit with the arm until he figured out the best way to tear away pieces to fit in his mouth. Spilled fluids dried sticky on his scorching plating but he ignored it, too caught up in the act to contemplate the mess.

_He’s been all over me for most of my life, how is this any different?_

After the arms he went to work on the legs, heedless of the sounds coming from his own vocaliser as metal tore beneath his hands and crumbled beneath his jaws. It was the purest of debauched self-indulgence and nothing could mar his enjoyment.

When he reached the torso Minimus went in from the side, moving up and over to exposed the place where he and so many others had been wired in to keep the legend of Ultra Magnus alive long after the mech himself had passed.

Once again he touched and licked all over the cavity, wriggling himself back inside one last time. It was almost surreal. Soon Ultra Magnus would be gone and all that would remain would be Minimus Ambus. _He_ would be the one that everyone saw, while Ultra Magnus became simply a large reservoir of raw materials for his self-repair to draw on. What did one more burden matter to his Loadbearer Spark when he was ridding himself of a much larger one?

**_I win._ **

Sliding back out, Minimus sat on his heels beside the diminished and limbless Magnus Armour and contemplated the sluggish ooze from slowly healing fluid lines. Reaching out, he ran his hand through the mess pooling on the waterproof tarps covering his berth and brought it to his lips, cleaning his hand with slow, sensual swipes of his glossa. Resting his chin on the now-clean hand, Minimus tilted his helm and contemplated the head and partially-eviscerated torso of Ultra Magnus in silence.

Even now the Armour could still be repaired. It could still be rebuilt and confirm by its very presence that he was ultimately nameless and useless without it.

_No thank you._

Ultra Magnus’ torso followed his arms and legs down Minimus’ gullet, accompanied by near-silent sighs of satisfaction as Minimus approached what he privately considered to be the climax of the event.

Lifted the disembodied head of Ultra Magnus with both hands he raised it to optic level so he could stare into the darkened lenses.

This mask he’d worn, this stranger’s face had become more familiar to him than his own. He no longer recognised himself in the mirror; the insignia of his House looked strange to his own optics. Every time he caught a glimpse of his reflection the very optical lenses he had been forged with now evoked a jolt of shock before Minimus forcibly reminded himself that he was looking at _himself_ and _he_ was no Decepticon.

Bringing the helm close, Minimus brushed a gentle kiss across the slack mouth, licking the bitten and bruised lipplates.

“Good riddance.” Minimus whispered against the Magnus Armour’s lips.

Then he sank his denta in and _ripped_ , tearing great chunks of the soft metalflesh away.

If the rest of the frame had felt good, consuming the helm was like a drawn-out unceasing overload. The sheer pleasure of the act was like nothing Minimus had imagined and he slowed his chewing, aware of the looming end and determined to savour every last millisecond, the crunch and slide of masticated parts, the true flavour of his prison of centuries.

When the final scraps of cranial casing made their way into his groaning tanks Minimus Ambus flopped to the berth with a sigh. Dazed and sated he smiled to himself as idle fingers drew patterns through the puddled gore that was all that was left of Ultra Magnus. The whole experience almost seemed like the most exquisite of dreams, the few golden recharge fantasies he’d bothered to commit to memory over the years.

Fully satisfied for the first time in thousands of years, Minimus Ambus stretched out in the carnage of his berthroom and went to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I have no fucking idea. Poetic justice and a take on Minimus Ambus that is far more complicated than I originally thought it would be. I don't understand vore at all, but I tried. 
> 
> I AM NOW EXTREMELY WORRIED ABOUT SMOL MUSTACHIOED GREEN SON.


End file.
